“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. But she was not to be tempted. Somehow logic could not explain her. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. They would be partners only in loneliness. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. There was some one there. As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken.
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